


Paradise Island

by sowell



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sowell/pseuds/sowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan comes home and asks Veronica to run away with him. Seriously. Picks up after 2.22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

It’s just past 8 o’ clock when Logan slams the door of his hotel room behind him. He rips his jacket off and hurls it into a corner, fuming.  _The last time_ , he swears. This is the last  _fucking_  time he’ll let himself get complacent around Veronica Mars. Every time he thinks they’ve made their way back to an ok place, she rips the rug out from under him.

Earlier that afternoon:  _“Don’t you think it’s time you stop leading that poor girl on?”_  Her tone was light, but her eyes were granite. He and Hannah had been dating – if you constituted hundreds of miles of distance and a frustrating lack of physical contact as dating – for almost three months. Veronica had been visibly, irritatingly unconcerned with the situation, aside from an occasional eye-roll when he answered his cell phone with a chirpy, “Hi, baby.” To his glee, she’d grown noticeably chillier since Hannah came home for winter break.

When Hannah had returned to Neptune after graduation, his moment of indecision had been short-lived. Despite her newly-discovered warmth toward him, Veronica had made it clear she wasn’t ready to fall back into a relationship. Oh, she had cited all sorts of good reasons: his temper, the fact that he’d lied to her, the fact that he’d tortured her verbally and emotionally for a year. She’d looked at him out of pleading eyes.  _“I’m just not ready for that yet. I can’t –”_

_“You can’t trust me,”_  he’d said, trying to sound soothing. Realizing he sounded bitter.

_“It’s not that I don’t…care about you. I just – I need time.”_

_“That’s fine,”_  he’d promised.  _“I understand,”_  when he really didn’t. He saved her life on the roof of the Neptune Grand, and he wasn’t sure what was possibly left in him to give. And then Hannah had come back in August, with a tearful confession that she had missed him. That her father wouldn’t stand in the way anymore. That she wanted to try and make it work.

Veronica had just blinked at him when he told her.  _“Fine. Good for you,”_  she said, with only a slight edge. Like it never even occurred to her that he wouldn’t keep waiting.

It was a new experience, dating someone like Hannah. She was the antithesis of Lilly, and Veronica would eat her alive. But Hannah…loved him. Trusted him. Looked at him with pride in a way that he could get used to. She called him three times a day to talk about things that...he really couldn’t care less about, but it was nice to be wanted instead of brushed off for a change. And if he felt a tiny bit guilty that he couldn’t love her back with the same intensity…well…after what he had put her through he owed her every bit of blind happiness he could give her.

He thinks Lilly would have been amused at the thought of him and Hannah.  He can almost hear her in his head.  _“Wow, Logan. If I had known that’s what rocked your pervy little world we would have done the naughty schoolgirl thing more often. Of course, that wouldn’t have given your conscience a rub like taking out Minnie Mouse, now would it?”_

Moments like these are when he misses his father the most. There’s nothing like a couple new welts from the man who raised you to cleanse you of any lingering feelings of guilt.

Hannah had gone back to boarding school in the fall, and thanks to the distraction of one Veronica Mars and the desire to distance himself from Aaron’s example, he had been completely faithful. Since Beaver threw himself off the roof in front of them, since she clung to him that night, slept in his arms, let him comfort her, her smiles had been softer, her barbs playful instead of poisonous. Since his peers headed for college, he’s been spending his days in a cycle of drinking, surfing, and thinking up excuses that require him to visit the Hearst campus, much to Veronica’s exasperation.

_“I don’t suppose it would do any good to suggest you get a job?”_

_“I’m too pretty to work.”_

_“You’re too lazy to work.”_

_“I’ve obviously been corrupted by our decadent and materialistic culture. You’ll have to teach me to be a contributing member of society.”_

_“I’m pretty sure you’re a lost cause.”_

She rolled her eyes and went back to studying, but he saw her smiling into her books. And she let him stay the rest of the afternoon on her couch, flirting with her and enjoying the way the light from the windows turned her hair to gold. It was miles away from what he wanted from her, but it was the only thing he had left.

So when she bit out her question about Hannah earlier in the afternoon, he just grinned.  _“Panties in a twist? Admit it – Hannah just reminds you what you’re missing.”_  She snorted, looking him over like he was a bug she picked off her shoe.

_“Miss what? The egotism? The charming lack of morality? The delightful destructive streak? Please, Logan. Does she have any idea what she’s dating?”_

That’s when he realized that she wasn’t being playful. Her intention was to wound, and as always, she succeeded spectacularly. To have his motives questioned was almost worse than having his sins listed out on her fingers. His fault, for letting her tenuous good opinion matter so damn much.

_“Exactly what nefarious motives do you imagine I have? Her father dropped the charges against me. I told her everything – she forgave me. But I guess your track record with forgiveness isn’t all that impressive.”_

_“Yeah, because your track record for honesty is just stellar. What could I possibly be thinking, doubting you for a second?”_

_“You’re a shining beacon of truth, Ronnie. By the way,”_  he said, his voice all false affability,  _“have you heard from Duncan recently? Any news on him and Meg’s daughter?”_  Her face whitened. They didn’t talk about Duncan’s disappearance – ever – but he wasn’t able to stop himself at that point.  _“Is that who you’re saving you’re forgiveness up for? He’s not coming back, Veronica, so you better start looking for someone else to put you on a pedestal.”_

That’s when he stormed out. The car ride home was a blur of raw, pulsating anger, tossing every curse he knew at her head, and fighting the infuriating urge to turn the car around and apologize before he ruined everything all over again. The car ride sucked, and his deserted room isn’t offering much more in the way of comfort.

He’s been seeing a therapist since his father was found dead in this hotel six months ago. He laughed when Trina desperately suggested/ordered it, but the truth is that Logan has found his hour-long therapy sessions to be vaguely cathartic. Not the therapy part, of course. But he can sit across from his shrink and say as many outlandish things as he wants without getting called on it. It’s like smarting off in English without the pesky detention that comes after it. Smarting off at home without the fists. He likes to see how red he can make her face get before the hour is over. Last session was all about anger management.

_“Do you have any strategies you use to deal with your anger, Logan?”_

_“Prostitutes are my anti-drug.”_

_“I’m being serious, Logan.”_

_“Seriously. You should try the Seventh Veil. You seem like an exotic kind of gal.”_

His frizzy-haired, brown-skinned, middle-aged psychologist pursed her lips and cautioned him against replacing one addiction with another.

He jams himself down on a barstool. “Here’s to you, Dr. Rashid,” he says grandly to the empty room, pulling out a bottle of J.D. “Addiction number #423.”

“Hey,” a familiar voice pulls him out of his red-hazed tunnel. He spills the whiskey.

Duncan rises slowly from the couch, a wary smile twisting his lips. “Surprise.” He waves a plastic card stiffly in the air. “I hung onto my key. Thought it might come in handy again someday.”

Logan stares at his long-absent best friend, desperately trying to summon some coherent combination of words to his brain. But his urge to say something clever is fighting a losing war with his suddenly pounding heart. Duncan looks thinner, and a little tired, but generally the same. Logan guesses that’s what happens when you’ve been running for nine months with an infant girl in tow. Duncan’s smile begins to slip off his face, and Logan knows he’s let the silence run too long.

“He returns,” Logan offers glibly. Or, at least, it sounds glib in his head. It comes out small and ragged with emotion. Shit. Duncan is moving toward him, and Logan stands where he is, frozen between a nine-month old anger and a fast-rising wave of hope and happiness that he hasn’t felt since before his mother took a dive off the Coronado Bridge. He can only let the room blur in front of him as Duncan pulls him into a fierce, tight hug.

*****

They order Chinese food, because it tastes different in Australia, and Duncan’s missed the California version. Typically, Logan can’t get any information out of him aside from the fact that baby Lilly is happy and healthy and staying with a nanny. Despite the dark circles under Duncan’s eyes, fatherhood seems to have had an uplifting effect on his friend. He seems…liberated, somehow. Logan hasn’t seen him so relaxed since before Lilly died. Maybe all he ever needed was to get out from Celeste and Jake’s demanding influence.

“I can only stay until morning,” Duncan explains between mouthfuls of chow mein. “I have a couple things I have to do.” Little bits of noodle drop from his chopsticks and stick to the leather as he shovels food directly from the paper carton into his mouth. Duncan’s the messiest eater he’s ever met. Well, Lilly could give him a run for his money. It seems Celeste’s etiquette lessons were a lost cause.

“Are you going to actually eat any of that, or was your plan just to dump it all on my couch?” Duncan flings a noodle at him in response, and Logan fends it off half-heartedly. It’s dangerous, this glowing bubble of contentment that’s been expanding in him for the last two hours. “What things do you have to do?”

Duncan shrugs. “Just a couple things. I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, I always feel so cherished when my friends disappear without a trace.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Duncan’s chopsticks stop moving.

Logan tightens his fingers on the sofa slowly, squeezing. He doesn’t want this visit to turn ugly, but he needs an acknowledgement, an apology, something –  _anything_  – to explain why his best friend of six years up and vanished in a puff of smoke without bothering to leave so much as a note.

Duncan is still looking down as he begins to speak. “I wanted to tell you, I swear. Veronica thought –”

“What? That I would tell on you? That I would ruin it? ‘Good ‘ol Logan, disaster waiting to happen’,” he snipes.

“No!” Duncan protests. “She just thought it would be safer if only the two of us knew. You had a lot of stuff going on. She didn’t want you to have to deal with that, too.” His eyes are pleading now. “She was trying to protect you.”

“She’s a real hero,” Logan mutters. It should make him feel better, but it doesn’t. It only further underscores her lack of trust in him. And her complete and utter devotion to Duncan. “And you agreed with her?”

“Logan, man, I’m sorry.” Duncan’s eyes are guilelessly blue, and he has that whipped puppy look that Logan both despises and can never quite hold out against.

He swallows. “Forget it. It’s done with.” He can see Duncan visibly relax out of the corner of his eye. He slowly picks up his chopsticks and resumes eating, although he keeps stealing sidelong glances at Logan, like he’s wondering what Logan will attack him with next.

Maybe he’s smart; maybe he knows what’s coming. Duncan may be a master of avoidance, but Logan can only take so much before the anxiety in him explodes into something else. “Have you seen her yet?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Duncan answers, just as quietly, not even bothering to pretend ignorance. He flashes a sheepish smile. “I was planning to, but I don’t know where she is.”

_And the truth comes out_ , Logan thinks bitterly. The real reason Duncan came to him first. All roads lead to Veronica Mars. Nothing has been solved in the nine months that Duncan has been gone. But it’s maybe the last time he’ll ever see Duncan, and even his bitterness over Veronica can’t overcome how much he’s missed his friend’s steady presence. How much he’ll miss him again when he’s gone.

“Finish your food,” Logan orders. “We’ll go after you’re done.”

Duncan’s smile is so grateful it sends Logan’s teeth clicking together in annoyance. “It would be safer if she came here,” Duncan suggests tentatively.

Logan gives a short laugh. “Good point. Too bad she won’t be picking up any calls from me right now.”

Duncan’s eyebrows fly up. “I wish I could say that surprises me…”

Logan punches him in the arm playfully before he can finish the sentence. “Eat up DK. Then we’ll go.”


	2. Part II

Duncan can’t stop fidgeting. He’s grown accustomed to looking over his shoulder now every few minutes. It’s the Saturday night before midterms, and the dorm is quiet, but college girls and boys in pairs come down the hallway every few minutes. Students, like he’ll never be. He’s as concealed as possible in a baseball cap and ugly, baggy clothes, but it’s still very, very risky. Everyone in Neptune knows his face. If he’s sighted even once by the wrong person, it could all be over. His throat tightens at the thought of his pink-cheeked, beautiful, brilliant daughter being handed over to the Mannings.

The hell of it is, he isn’t even sure of his welcome. Veronica sent him off with tears and a kiss, but the truth was, he had kept secrets from her, created problems they never had a chance to resolve and, in the end, abandoned her for the chance to take care of another woman’s baby. He has a sinking feeling this visit could blow up in his face.

Veronica seems to take forever to come to the door. He shuffles, while Logan taps the wall impatiently. He glances at Logan uncertainly. “Do you think she’s there?”

Logan rolls his eyes. “She’s always here. Can’t say much for her social life.” Finally, finally a lamp comes on under the door and it swings open. Veronica is framed in the light, in pigtails and pajama pants, and his fingers itch to grab her and crush her against him, but he has to wait endless moments for her to notice him.

She has a sleepy scowl on her face. “I’m sorry, the shooting range is closed for the night. The next round of target practice will have to wait until –” she stops mid-sentence, frozen in shock. “Duncan?”

“Hi,” he says weakly. Not exactly the smooth speech he planned for the girl who gambled her entire future helping him abscond with his illegitimate baby. It doesn’t really matter though, since she is gazing at him like she’s in a trance. Or maybe a nightmare.

Logan clears his throat. “Maybe we should move this touching and illicit reunion inside?” He puts a hand on Duncan’s back and shoves him through the door.

“Duncan, what the hell are you doing here?” she asks, hushed. “Are you out of your mind? Did something happen to Lilly?”

“Lilly’s fine. Everything’s fine. I had to come back to Neptune for a few things. I- I wanted to see you.” His voice sounds pathetically hopeful, even to his own ears. “I missed you.”

Her face softens. “You mean the cabana girls aren’t sufficient distraction?” Her voice comes out slightly unsteady, and her eyes have misted over, just a bit. She smiles, and his heart answers with a little lift.

“Be still my heart,” Logan sighs in a high-pitched voice from corner. Duncan looks at him sharply, but there is no malice in his face. He has slumped carelessly against the wall, watching the two of them, but his eyes are rueful and entirely too sad.

Veronica shoots Logan a patented death glare before returning her attention to him, and he can’t help but wonder what happened between them this time, what has happened in all the time he’s been gone. “Duncan,” she continues, “I miss you too, but you shouldn’t have come here.” She shakes her head and her pigtails go bouncing. “This is way too dangerous – for me and you.”

She’s trying to look stern, but her eyes are still shining. He can’t help himself. He reaches out and takes hold of one of her pigtails, running his fingers over the silky strands. He feels her arms go tentatively around him, and he pulls her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She feels safe; she feels like home, and his entire world shrinks to the small body nestled against him.

He doesn’t even hear Logan move. The door to Veronica’s room clicks shut, and when he looks up, Logan is gone. He glances down and sees Veronica staring at the door through which Logan disappeared, her eyebrows knit together. He tips her chin back up. “Hey. Let’s sit, ok?”

He intertwines his fingers with her small, cold ones. Duncan has practiced this speech about a million times, but now that the moment is here, he doesn’t want to talk at all. He wants to curl around Veronica in her creaky dorm room bed and stay there with her for days. Her blue eyes are searching his face, concerned.

“Duncan, why are you here?”

The words stick in his throat. Because the truth is, he’s in her dorm room to ask her to go back with him. To give up her entire existence and everybody she loves to raise an ex-girlfriend’s child with him. How do you ask that?

“I had some – some business to take care of.”

Now she just looks confused. “Business? What kind of business could you possibly still have here?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. It’s not important, and it has nothing to do with us.” He ignores the guilt starting to gnaw at his stomach.

She stares at him. He breaks out in a cold sweat. “Okay,” she says slowly. “But I doubt you risked coming back here for something that’s not important. Duncan, you’re not making any sense.”

He should have known she wouldn’t let this go. And the longer he flounders for an answer, the more suspicious her expression becomes. Of all the things he doesn’t want to discuss, his true reason for coming back to Neptune is number one on the list.

She drops her hands from his and sits back. “What’s. Going. On.”

“I had to see Clarence Wiedman,” he hears himself say. Shit.

She’s back to looking confused. “Clarence Wie- what? Why?”

“Can we just forget it?” he asks a little desperately. “I came to see you, not talk about Clarence.”

Her face settles into mutinous lines. “You’ve been gone nine months,” she seethes, “and you expect to just show up here – risking everything we did last year – without any questions from me? Stop lying and tell me what’s going on.”

He blows out a hard breath. He’s missed a million things about Veronica; her hard-ass, locked jaw, cold-eyed glare isn’t one of them. He came in with a plan; he took her by surprise, and somehow he still managed to lose control of the conversation altogether. She looks like she’s about thirty seconds away from tossing him out on his ass, and while the thought of escape is tempting, then he’ll never even get the chance to ask her to come with him. Strangely, the thought of Logan pops into his head, and the self-satisfied smirk Logan will give him if Veronica tosses him out.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I have to see Clarence because he wants to give me a different phone. It’s newer, and completely untraceable. He didn’t want to send it via mail because he thought it would leave too much of a paper trail, and he didn’t want to come to me, in case he’s still being watched. No one would expect me to come here though, so….”

It’s the truth. At least, a good two-thirds of the truth, and Veronica seems to buy it. Her forehead crinkles into an adorable little frown as she processes that information, and he smoothes a thumb over the lines to make them disappear. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I thought you’d freak if you knew I was still communicating with him. I know you still don’t trust him after…after everything, but he’s loyal to me. That, at least, you’ve seen.”

He cups her cheek, and her breath hitches slightly. “That’s it?” she asks, holding his gaze for a beat.

“That’s it,” he promises. I’ll tell her eventually. Now isn’t the time. “That, and I missed you more than you can even imagine.”

The corners of her mouth turn up a touch. “I can imagine,” she says softly. He’s already waited too long, so he leans in and kisses her, and God, he’s forgotten how good it feels. He hasn’t touched anyone else since her left her, has been too damn busy playing hide and seek with the FBI and the Neptune PD and trying to figure out how to take care of another human being. It was worth the wait, he thinks, feeling her arms come around his neck. She tastes like toothpaste and cherries, and when she melts against him he feels a peace that’s been missing in his life since he found out Meg Manning was pregnant. She feels right in his arms, like she always has, from the first time he kissed her in the front seat of his father’s SUV.

He breaks away for a minute. “Come with me,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are closed, and she has a dreamy smile on her face. “Come where?”

He swallows. “Back. Leave Neptune and come back with me.”

She freezes. “What?”

“Lilly needs a mother. And you’re the only one I want there with me. ” He nuzzles against her hair but she pushes him away.

“If you’re joking it’s not funny. And if you’re serious, I’m going to keep talking and pretend you never asked me that.”

He picks up her hand again. This, he’s prepared for. “I know, I know. But I’ve thought about this. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would work.”

“You’re crazy,” she says flatly. “Duncan, I can’t run away with you. And it’s not fair for you to ask.”

She has that particularly disillusioned expression on her face that he remembers from when she first told him about Meg. Like he’s somehow let her down again.

“Fugitive status aside,” she continues, “what about my dad? My friends, my education? How am I supposed to ever get a job if I leave school?”

“I have money,” he says, and immediately wants to hit himself for that mistake.

“I don’t want your family’s money,” she explodes. “I didn’t put myself through hell at Neptune High so I could end up cooking dinner in a back room.”

The thought is so ludicrous that he bursts out laughing. “I never really pictured you as the housewife type, but I could totally get used to the whole apron thing.”

“Stop it,” she says crossly. “It’s not funny. It’s insane.”

“I don’t want you cooking for me in a back room,” he chuckles. “Unless, of course, you want to. In which case, feel free.” She slaps at him half-heartedly, and he catches one hand. “I just want you with me. I haven’t stopped missing you since I left. I’m not going to stop missing you.” Her face registers the change in his tone immediately, and her blue eyes go baby soft. He seizes on her silence.

“Veronica, I have loved you since the first time Lilly brought you home after school in the eighth grade. We went out on one stupid date, and I just knew. I knew that we would get married and spend our lives together because there would never be another girl I loved as much as I loved you.” She is looking down as he speaks, but he feels her thumb stroking gently over the back of his hand. It’s encouragement enough.

“When my mother told me you were- that that could never happen, it was like someone told me I couldn’t breathe. I cut you out of my life because I couldn’t stand to be around you and not touch you.” He gives a short, painful laugh. “For a year I thought I was sick or wrong or twisted in some way, because no matter what I did, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I thought the rest of my life I’d just be…lost…because I never bothered to plan what I’d do if I couldn’t be with you.” She takes an unsteady breath, and he knows she’s crying. He swallows the lump in his throat, determined to at least finish before she breaks down, or kicks him out, or does whatever beautiful, indecipherable thing she’ll do.

“When you told me about the paternity test, it was like my whole world came together for the first time since Lilly. It was like…vindication. We weren’t wrong. It was just a test, and we passed.” He squeezes her hand. “We could get past this, too. We can still have everything we talked about.” He lifts her palm and presses a kiss in the center of it. “I love you…so much. We can have a life, if you want.”

She lifts her eyes to his, and they’re swimming in tears, so conflicted and pained that he feels his heart clench. Her voice is muffled and very small when she speaks. “I love you, too. I always have. But…this isn’t a test, Duncan. This isn’t some grand master plan to shape our future. This is Meg’s baby. And my life.”

He resists the urge to flinch at the mention of Meg. “I know,” he says steadily. “I would give –anything – for Meg to be alive, even if it meant you and I could never….”

She silences him with one finger over his lips. “You don’t have to convince me you loved Meg,” she says softly. “I know if she had survived you would have stuck by her.” His entire body warms at her admission of trust.

“You loved Meg too,” he says urgently. “We can raise Lilly together.” He grins. “You can be the fearsome and loving mother, and I can be the scattered, goofy father. I can write, or do whatever we need to do to make money, and you can open up a beachfront photography studio.”

Her mouth smiles, but her eyes are slightly panicked. She gestures toward a wilting plant in the corner. “I- I- can’t even make my bonsai grow,” she stutters. “How am I supposed to take care of a baby? This is- this too fast, Duncan.”

He strokes her hair, not wanting to lose her focus. “I’m sorry. But I’m going tomorrow, and I don’t want this to be the last time I ever see you. I have to try.”


	3. Part III

Logan almost slams into Wallace Fennel as he turns the corner leaving Veronica’s hallway. He is fast approaching desperate in his need to put distance between himself and the room where Veronica is once again tripping over herself to leap back into Duncan Kane’s arms. It doesn’t matter, not really. Duncan will be gone again in the morning, and he’ll be back to haunting the corners of his hotel suite, thinking up inventive new ways to squander Aaron Echolls’ money. Would he have Duncan stay, if it meant he had to see the two of them together again, every day? Either way, it’s bad. He resolves not to think about it for a good five minutes.

Luckily God, or Satan, intervenes by sending Wallace Fennel stumbling sleepily out of the boy’s restroom. Wallace’s eyes flick to Veronica’s closed door, then back to him, wandering Veronica’s halls at one in the morning. Wallace suddenly looks wide awake and more than a little suspicious.

"Hey," he greets Logan tightly. They’ve forged an uneasy truce over the last few months, the rules of which are as follows: Logan doesn’t purposely bait the kid every five seconds, and Wallace doesn’t spit out "asshole" and wrench Veronica away every time Logan comes within five feet of her.

"Wallace," Logan returns easily. Neither of them moves.

"What’s going on?" Wallace asks bluntly.  _Nothing much. Duncan Kane, back in town. Veronica Mars, heartless bitch. Logan Echolls, hopeless sucker._  He has a quick urge to confess everything to Wallace, if it will just put a stop to whatever is happening in room 307. But he stays silent, because he’s loyal to Duncan. And also: hopeless sucker.

"Nothing. Just visiting our favorite girl."

"So, I guess Veronica’s awake," Wallace hedges.

Logan smiles. "I guess." He isn’t certain if Wallace is more worried that he’s sleeping with Veronica or that he strangled her and tossed her body out the window.

"So I guess I’ll just go over there and make sure she’s all right." Wallace moves to step around Logan.

Logan steps with him, blocking his path. "Not a good idea, Shaq. She’s uh…" he searches his brain for an excuse. "She’s comforting her computer monkey. About her grades or something. Yeah." He winks. "Girl stuff, you know?"

Wallace’s face darkens. "Mac went home for the weekend. What the hell are you playing at?"

Shit. Wallace tries to push his way past again, and Logan pushes him back with a hand in the center of his chest.

Wallace bristles like a hedgehog. "Watch it, man."

A fight. Yeah, Logan could definitely go for a fight right now. But not with Wallace. The kid will either kick his ass, which would just be embarrassing, or he’ll kick Wallace’s ass, in which case a) the entire Hearst basketball team will hunt him down and kill him in retaliation or b) Veronica will get there first and there’ll be nothing left of him to kill.

Logan takes a step back, hands raised in surrender. "She told me not to let anyone in. She kicked me out because she’s working on something for her dad."

Wallace’s eyes narrow, spectacularly unconvinced.

Logan leans nonchalantly against the wall. "Hey, check for yourself, buddy. Just don’t come sobbing to me if she tears into you for disrupting her detective zen. Just trying to help a brother out." He gives Wallace an insolent clap on the shoulder, causing the kid to go as stiff as a board.

Logan sighs exaggeratedly. "I thought you were, like, her sidekick, or whipping boy, or something. You should be used to this by now. The girl’s off her fucking rocker.  _Loca._ "

Wallace looks mad enough to put Logan’s head through the nearest wall.  _Right back at ya, sport._  "I’m calling her," he says defiantly. Logan raises his eyebrows and sweeps a hand as if to say, "Be my guest." Maybe Wallace’s call will interrupt the two of them at a key moment. That’s something he’d like to take credit for.

"And you’re leaving," Wallace continues stonily. "Now, while I can see you."

Logan salutes. "Yes, sir, Cap’n Fennel." He’s done his bit of stalling. They’re on their own now. He heads for the stairs, feeling Wallace’s glare boring into his back as he goes. He wonders for a moment what it’s like to show up someplace and not have a single person try to kick you out. He supposes that’s what Duncan’s life is like. Or was, before he knocked up Mary Sunshine. He heads for the relative haven of his car, half-hoping someone else will piss him off in between here and the parking lot so he can get in a good swing. There’s a lot to be said for indiscriminate violence.

*****

Duncan’s eyes were the first things that drew Veronica to him. Of course, he was  _Duncan Kane_ , the high school equivalent of Prince Charming, but really his eyes – pure, unadulterated blue – were a big part of it. She was always sure she could see her future in those eyes, that they would never tell a lie to her without giving themselves away.

That was before he mysteriously dumped her, before she learned he’d been hiding a deadly illness his entire life, and before he lied about knocking up his ex-girlfriend.

She’s beginning to remember the power of those eyes, though. It must be the eyes, because the things he’s saying are beginning to make sense. What he’s asking of her  _isn’t_  fair, but he’s admitted that. Who the hell is she to judge fairness?

He’s slowly rubbing a thumb back and forth over her knuckles, a gesture that he always uses to calm her when he thinks she’s getting too skittish, or intense, or  _something_. "I don’t know anything about being a father, either," he says softly, "but we can learn." He smiles quickly. "You’ll be passing me in Parenting 101 in a week, I guarantee."

That statement deserves an eye-roll, despite the gravity of the situation. "Yeah, that’s me. Veronica Mars, soccer mom extraordinaire."

"Grown men twice your size cower in fear," he jokes. "That sounds like a mom to me."

"Are we talking your mom or my mom? Because between the vodka and the frigid bitchiness, I’m not sure which memories make me the warmest and fuzziest inside."

"Honestly? I figure it’s impossible to do more damage than they did to us. We already have two stellar examples to avoid like the plague." And the tenderness in his eyes is almost enough to convince her.

He is talking to her in that low, self-assured way that she aches for every time she’s had a fight with her dad, or is stuck on a case, or just can’t get centered for whatever reason. He smells like Duncan – like soap and ocean and boy – and she wants to bury her head against his chest and freeze this moment forever. "Lilly is so beautiful," he says. "It’s amazing how much she learns for herself. I just watch her, thinking she’s going to be finished with high school before I even learn how to feed her without getting it all over myself." His face glows when he talks about his daughter, and Veronica feels strangely left out. She wants to share Duncan’s glowing moments with him, and no matter how much she wants to be, she’s not a part of that happiness.

"She looks just like Meg," he adds wistfully, and she feels a twinge that she can’t quite push away. A secret, guilty wish that this baby didn’t exist, because then Duncan would never have left, and he wouldn’t be asking her to decide the impossible. And she would still be harboring stupid daydreams (that she never, ever told anyone, even Lilly) about having Duncan’s first baby herself.

She can still have Duncan’s babies. She can still have Duncan.

"I have a house," Duncan says earnestly, watching her eyes. "It’s small, but it’s right on the beach. I’ve been writing pieces for the local paper, just to make some extra money." He looks sheepish. "It’s not the, uh, Kane legacy you expected, but it’s plenty until I get a real job. Once I pay Clarence I’ll be able to get settled, start saving." He grins, a flash of carefree mirth. "Maybe I’ll invest in some Kane stock."

Her cell phone beeps, and she glances at it absently, more to escape the downward tumble of her thoughts than out of real interest. She turns away and answers. "Hey Wallace. Not a great time."

"Hey V, you ok?" His tone is worried, despite her attempt to keep her own voice light.

"Yeah, just…tough case I’m working."

"Huh. That’s what he said." His voice is skeptical.

"What?"

"Echolls was skulking around in the hallway, acting all shady. Asshole," he mutters.

She can’t suppress a smile. "You know he’ll stop baiting you if you just ignore him."

"Hey, he can talk at me all day. I don’t give a shit what he says to me. You’re the one I’m worried about." He doesn’t even bother to temper the affection in his voice. Wallace. She never would have survived Neptune without him.

She fights to keep her voice even, despite the knot in her throat. "Next time the big bad wolf comes around I’ll be sure to call in the reinforcements."

He chuckles. "Cool. You sure you’re ok?" Her head is starting to pound with the effort to hold back tears.

"Sure. Yeah," she forces out.

"K. See ya in English."

"Bye Wallace." Her last words are barely a whisper, but she punches the "End" button before he can start grilling her again.

She takes a second to collect herself before she turns around. Duncan is looking at her with soft concern. She smiles back apprehensively. She wants to believe in the picture perfect life Duncan’s laying out before her, but things have never been that simple, and she can’t imagine why fate would offer her an out now. She’s torn between exasperation that Duncan still thinks his family’s wealth, a family who has caused her years of trouble, is part of her attraction to him, and a nagging skepticism at the idea of Duncan - born with a silver spoon in his mouth, given everything he ever wanted even having to ask – working at an hourly wage to support his family.

And then she fully processes what he said before the phone rang, and all thoughts of babies and island havens come to a screeching halt.

"Pay Clarence for what?"

He freezes, a deer in headlights. Guilty. Caught. Her heart plummets. She forces herself to speak very calmly. "You’re not here for a cell phone. What are you paying Clarence Wiedman for?"

He makes a frustrated noise and drops his head into his hands. "Do we have to do this? I just want to be with you for one fucking hour without having to deal with all the other shit in my life."

"Poor baby," she spits. "Duncan, you can tell me the truth, right now, or you can turn around and head back to your grass hut. And if you choose the second option, may I advise speed? The way I’m feeling, Lamb may or may not receive an anonymous call tipping him off as to your whereabouts."

He’s looking down and slightly to her left, and she has the sinking feeling he’s still trying to scramble up a lie. She’s not more how many more life-altering secrets she can take from him. She takes a deep breath and takes his hand, not entirely sure she wants to know. "You can tell me. How can you possibly think we could live together if you can’t even tell me the truth?"

"I didn’t want to upset you," he says in a low voice.

Her laugh has an unmistakable edge of hysteria. "About three states past upset, here."

He takes a deep breath. "I’m paying Clarence Wiedman for the hit on Aaron Echolls. It was me. I hired Clarence to have Mr. Echolls killed."

She rears back from him, a faint roaring in her ears. She doesn’t realize she’s stood up until she’s halfway across the room, clinging to her desk chair, shaking.

"How could you do that," she whispers.

Duncan’s jaw drops. "How could I- he killed my sister! He tried to kill you, too, or have you forgotten that? The jury found him not guilty, so bygones? Did you want him to get away with it?" He is staring at her, outraged.

"That wasn’t your responsibility," she sputters. "It wasn’t your  _right_."

Duncan’s on his feet now, too, yelling. "Then whose responsibility was it? Should I have waited for the city of Neptune to appeal? Let him and kill another high school girl and then trust  _Lamb_  to solve the crime? Or wait, maybe I should leave it up to divine justice, just like you did with Lilly," he sneers. "Jesus Veronica, do you wish he were still alive?"

Her blood freezes.  _No_. God, no. She’s happy he’s dead, even if Duncan’s responsible. It makes her feel darkly satisfied in a way that sends shivers down her spine. She’s terrified of that feeling. But still….

"He was Logan’s  _father_ ," she bursts out.

"No," Duncan says coldly. "He stopped being Logan’s father the second I saw him on that tape."

"He was the only family Logan had left," she whispers, tears burning behind her eyes. "I know Logan hated him, but he’s just…alone now."

"I know the feeling," Duncan says, face shuttered. "Are you going to tell him?" he asks distantly.

Veronica takes a shuddery breath. "Do you think I should?"

For the first time since confessing, Duncan looks uncertain. "I don’t know. I think you know him better than I ever did." His smile is very grim. "He may try to return the favor, but I doubt he’ll hire someone else to do it." His words have an empty humor to them, and Veronica is hit with sudden, painful clarity.

He wasn’t easy for him; no easier than it was for her to accuse Duncan of killing his sister. No easier than turning in Logan, or using Leo, or lying to her father. Duncan decided, and he acted. It was his sister; it was  _Lilly,_  and she could hardly judge him when she turned the city upside down, Duncan’s family included, looking for vengeance for the same reason. How could she blame him now?

Truth be told, she still has nightmares about holding a gun on Cassidy Casablancas on the roof of the Neptune Grand. She doesn’t know what she would have done if Logan hadn’t been there. Sometimes, in her dreams, she pulls the trigger. How can she blame Duncan, when she understands revenge down to her very core?

She lets out a long breath and walks back to the bed. He watches her warily. "I think," she says carefully, "that Logan cares about you more than he ever cared about his father." She sighs. "He’ll probably offer to buy you a drink. But it’s up to you. I won’t tell him."

Duncan’s body nearly goes boneless with relief. "Thank you."

She stares at him, and the moment stretches into something solemn and poignant as the silence settle around them. His eyes flicker to her mouth once, and then he leans down and kisses her. It’s not the feather-light kiss he pressed against her lips earlier. His lips are warm and firm, and when she opens her mouth his arms go around her reflexively. She wants to crawl inside him and stay, and she’s missed him so, so much. They are both breathless when he breaks away and rests his forehead against hers.

"I’m leaving at 8AM from the bridge at Dog Beach. You can come, or you can stay. It’s up to you."

The tears are back. "It’s more complicated than that," she chokes out. "I’d be leaving everything. My school, my father, Wallace –"

"Logan?" he asks tightly.

She opens her mouth, and nothing comes out. Duncan gives a bitter little chuckle. "Right. Seems to be the thing to do whenever I disappear."  _Then stop disappearing_ , she wants to say, but she bites her tongue, because she stopped mourning things she couldn’t control the night Cassidy Casablancas raped her in a guest bedroom at Shelly Pomroy’s house.

She fumbles for the words. "It’s not- I can’t explain it. A lot has happened since…." No words, to describe what Logan had done for her the night of graduation. No way to make him understand the burgeoning trust of the last few months.

Until last week, of course, when Logan started parading his virginal little girlfriend around in front of her face. Not that Hannah has a single thing to do with why she’s angry with him now. She’s angry now because he’s petty and selfish and immature, and he always will be, no matter how many bullets he’s saved her from. Hannah has nothing to do with it. Nothing.

Granted, doesn’t explain why she hasn’t been able to get the picture of him and Hannah out of her mind since she saw her clinging to him last week. It doesn’t explain why her insides clench up every time she imagines him whispering to Hannah in that gentle, intimate voice that she has only heard him use with her before. It almost seemed like they were getting somewhere since graduation, and she had started to hope…

And then they had to start fighting again. The utter exhaustion of running in circles with Logan makes Duncan’s fantasy island seem all the sweeter.

Duncan interrupts her reverie by kissing her again. "It doesn’t matter," he whispers, breaking away briefly. "I don’t know what’s going on with Logan, and I don’t want to know." He smiles painfully. "What I know is that I need you." He presses whispery kisses against her neck, her cheek, her mouth, leaving her shuddering. "You’ve always wanted to get away from here. Come with me, and I promise everything will work out." He’s handsome and calm and comforting, and she suddenly fiercely believes that his plan will work, and that they have a future if they want it. He’s the only thing she still has from before her life turned inside out, and in that moment she thinks she’d trade just about anything to hang onto him.

Her father has always wanted normalcy for her, and she’s already seen more death and corruption than anyone should have to process. She can’t imagine running away, leaving her father by himself for the next thirty years, but what if her last opportunity to escape the taint of Neptune disappears with Duncan? What would her father say if she ignored that chance?

She can barely keep her balance with all the thoughts whirling around inside her when Duncan finally turns to go. He slides his arms around her, achingly familiar in the solidity of his bulk and the steady gaze of his eyes.  _Lying eyes_ , she reminds herself uneasily, but everyone has lied to her, and Duncan is offering her a chance at a place where they’ll never have to lie to each other again.

"See you at the bridge," he murmurs. It’s half-statement, half-question. He holds her gaze. She wants, more than anything, to reassure him that she’ll be there. That she’ll save him from whatever loneliness made him so desperate tonight. But she’s frozen, unable to even voice that she loves him, as he pulls the door firmly shut.


	4. Part IV

Logan is leaning back in the driver’s seat when Duncan climbs into the car. He’s got sunglasses on, despite the fact that it’s dark, and starting to rain, and he’s twirling a bronze-gilded flask in his fingers, the metallic finish glinting off the streetlights. Duncan rolls his eyes, too drained by his conversation with Veronica to even comment on the melodrama.

"Okay Dr. Evil, let’s go." He taps the dashboard.

Logan doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, and Duncan thinks his theatrics are getting damn annoying. The car ride to Hearst was warm, relaxed. Now the yellow house-on-wheels feels too cramped to hold the two of them. He’s learned too much, seen too much in Veronica’s eyes. Suddenly Logan is a threat again, and he hates it.

Logan stops the flask, mid-spin. "It’s been an hour. Australia must be really lonely." His voice just a tiny bit looser than usual, and Duncan wonders how much is left in that flask.

"Just call me Casanova."

Logan snorts, but he puts the car in gear. Duncan tries not to look at him. He told Veronica he didn’t want to know, but part of him wants to slam Logan against the window and demand to know what the hell he’s been doing with Veronica in the months he’s been gone. Another, more rational, part of him knows it’s not his business. If Veronica turned to Logan, well, she never thought he’d be coming back. He can’t expect her to spend the rest of her life pining for her first love. Even if it seems that’s the particularly cruel future fate has in store for him.

The biggest part of him doesn’t want to know at all.

"I asked her to come with me." He says it quietly, half-hoping it will go unnoticed amid the screaming tension.

Logan’s head snaps around so fast that the car goes veering across the median. Duncan grabs the wheel, heart pounding.

"Jesus, Logan. Watch the road."

Logan holds his gaze for a disbelieving moment before turning to face the road again in one quick, frustrated motion. It’s like every atom of tension floating around in the car got sucked into Logan’s body at once. Duncan sees him swallow once, open his mouth, and close it again. Then, a strangled "What did she say?"

"She doesn’t know yet."

That’s it. The rest of the ride is eerily silent, although Duncan sees Logan’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Logan doesn’t stew when he can yell, which Duncan takes to mean that he has actually left his friend speechless for the first time in recent history. He feels a little proud in a twisted, entirely grim way.

The shit doesn’t hit the fan until the two of them are back in the hotel room, and Logan has shut the door behind them. Duncan heads for the couch. Logan stays where he is. "You have no right to ask her," he says at Duncan’s back. His voice is furious; it’s like he’s been saving up his anger for last half hour so that now he has an excuse to erupt. "You left."

"I had to leave," Duncan protests angrily.

"Yeah. I hate it when someone makes me crawl into the pants of the head cheerleader. Tough breaks, D."

Duncan grabs Logan’s collar and slams him against the wall. "Shut up. Don’t you say one word about Meg or my daughter."

Logan looks shocked, although whether it’s at Duncan’s violence or at the realization that he just crossed a very well-drawn line, Duncan isn’t sure. He doesn’t apologize, but he doesn’t shove back either. He just swallows and looks back at Duncan, and Duncan sees regret and a million other things playing across his face. He eases back slowly.

"Don’t you think I know I have no right? Nothing about this is right. I have to try. This is the only chance I have."

"Jesus," Logan explodes. "You’ve had more chances with her…"  
  
 _Than you deserve._  Duncan hears the end of Logan’s sentence in his own mind, and he feels a little sick, because it’s probably true. Veronica has forgiven him for every misstep he’s taken. And she’s never forgiven Logan for a single thing. He’s always taken that as proof of her love and trust. But after seeing the look in her eyes when she talked about Logan being alone, he’s starting to think it could signify something else. Maybe she’s never forgiven Logan because he just hurt her worse. Because she cared more for him than she’s ever let on.

Those are the thoughts that drive him to taunt, "Are you angry because I’m being unfair, or are you angry because you’re scared she actually might go?"

"I’m not angry." Logan laughs without any trace of humor. "I’m completely fucking astonished that you think you can screw up so badly and still get a happy ending. You blew it. This is  _your mess_. What the hell right do you have dragging everyone else into it?"

"You should know," Duncan replies scathingly. "Your record makes me look like a boy scout." Logan jaw locks, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t, and Duncan knows he can’t. Which is why it’s pure malice when he continues, "You know, when you moved in on Veronica, I was pissed. But I got over it real quick. You know why?" He pastes a big, false grin on his face. " ‘Good ‘ol Logan, disaster waiting to happen.’ I knew you’d fuck it up real quick. And you proved me right. Wait to live up to those Echolls expectations."

Duncan half-expects a fist to come crashing into his face, but he finishes the speech to dead silence. And then, as the seconds tick by, he begins to long for a fist. Logan is staring at him, tight-lipped, and he needs something, anything to release the guilt and fury swirling around inside of him. Anything to erase this feeling that he’d cut off his own arm to take back what he just said.

Logan doesn’t lie down and take it, ever. No matter how wrong, no matter how inappropriate, he doesn’t have the ability to close his mouth. In the face of his silence now, Duncan gets the feeling he’s looking at someone he doesn’t know anymore. Someone whose steely expression reminds him of…  _Veronica_ , Duncan realizes. Veronica when she’s angry. More disturbing evidence of what’s gone on in his absence. It’s far worse than Logan’s usual unfocused temper tantrums.  
  
 _Just hit me_ , Duncan thinks desperately. But despite his almost psychotic violent tendencies, Logan has never raised a hand to Duncan unless Duncan hit first. He doesn’t break tradition now. He walks around Duncan, into his room, and slams the door so hard the room shakes.

This time it’s Duncan who heads for the bar.

*****

Mac’s cell phone starts to chirp, and Mac jerks her head up from the history text she’s been studying. Sleeping on top of. Whatever. She glances at the clock. 2 AM. Her caller ID reads V MARS.

"Computer Nerds R Us," Mac drawls into the phone.

"Computer nerds? Come now. The term is mouse potato. It’s trendier. Or at least that’s what the fellas down at the apple store tell me."

Mac yawns. "Hey Veronica."

"Hiya Mac. How’s Neptune?" Veronica asks congenially. Mac can almost hear the head tilt in her voice. She sighs.

"Hold on, let me just power up my laptop. What are you looking for? Social security number? Academic standing? Credit history?"

"Mac!" Veronica’s voice is tinged with laughter. "It’s almost like you think I only use you for your computer skills."

"You don’t?"

"You also have TiVo."

Mac laughs out loud. "And here I thought you just came over for the witty banter."

"That too. Actually…." Veronica’s voice grows a bit more somber, "I did call to talk to you."

"At 2AM? Man, you’re weird sometimes."

"Gotta love me. It’s um – I wanted to ask you a question…about Duncan Kane."

Mac furrows her brow. "Is this for a case? Are you trying to find him?"

"No, this is…this has nothing to do with Mars Investigations. It’s…personal." Mac digests Veronica’s statement, the uncharacteristic uncertainty her tone, and the odd inflection of the word "personal."

"This isn’t a case." Mac says slowly.

"No."

"You’re not getting paid for this."

"No."

"Which means I’m not getting paid for this."

"Except in cookies," Veronica says brightly.

"Veronica," Mac says in disbelief. "It’s 2 in the morning and I have 70 pages to read and a test Monday morning."

"My cookies are famous. Just ask Wallace."

Mac reluctantly closes her textbook. "Ok. But if I don’t see some baked goods asap you can forget about watching my TV ever again."

"What did you think of Duncan Kane and I? Like, as a couple?"

"You called me at 2 in the morning for  _girl talk_? Are you being serious?"

Her laugh is a little hysterical. "I don’t know. Maybe."

Mac is silent for a worried moment, surprised and a little touched that Veronica came to her. Veronica doesn’t get uncertain; she doesn’t get nervous, she doesn’t get confused. She doesn’t have existential crises about the meaning of life, and she doesn’t agonize over what to say to the cute boy who lives two doors down. Veronica catches the bad guys; Mac gets completely fooled by the bad guys and ends up alone in a hotel room, humiliated, terrified, and heartsick.

"You and Duncan were…I don’t know…kind of like Ken and Barbie."

"I don’t remember Ken knocking up Skipper and running away with her baby."

Mac sighs. "I meant before that. You two were cute, I guess." She gives a rueful laugh. "You certainly made a few people jealous – snagging Duncan Kane and all."

"So…do you think if Meg hadn’t gotten pregnant, Duncan and I would still be…Duncan and I?"

"Sure. I guess."

"You don’t sound convinced."

Mac wearily flips off her desk lamp and climbs into bed. "What are you actually trying to ask me?"

"Do you think Duncan and I were…made for each other? Like, did we seem meant to be? Did you see us twenty years from now summering in Maine with our two rugrats and a golden retriever?" The question is so un-Veronica that Mac pauses, unsure if she’s being sarcastic.

Mac chooses her words very carefully. "I always got the impression that you thought you were made for each other. That’s all that matters, right?"

"I used to think so. Apparently I’m a terrible judge of character," Veronica says quietly.

"Compared to my taste in men, I don’t think you have anything to worry about."

Veronica inhales sharply. "Mac…"

"Forget it." They are both quiet for a second. Mac continues tentatively, "Veronica…you need to stop torturing yourself. Duncan’s gone. I wish, for your sake, that he wasn’t, but he ran away."

"Say he didn’t. Pretend he never left. I want the total, painful truth. Do you think we would have ended up together?"

Mac is starting to get a little confused by the determination in Veronica’s pointed questions. She suddenly feels like there’s a lot more riding on her answers than some simple girl-to-girl comfort time.

"I can’t really answer that. I didn’t know Duncan all that well."

"But you liked him, right? He was always nice to you?"

"Yeah, he was nice. Of course, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to be a jerk to his girlfriend’s friend."

"He wasn’t just being nice because of me. Duncan may have been a little oblivious, but he wasn’t your typical 09er asshole." Veronica sounds a bit defensive at Mac’s lukewarm response. "He wasn’t Logan," she mutters.

Mac surprises herself by saying, "Logan was never an asshole to me." She clarifies quickly, "I mean, he was an asshole. Just…not to me."

"Well," Veronica says pointedly, "you were my friend. Like you said, he wasn’t about to piss me off by being a jerk to you."

Mac can’t help but laugh. "Veronica, Logan couldn’t pick me out of a crowd if I were dancing naked and juggling computers. He was always a little too busy looking at you."

"What does  _that_  mean?" Veronica asks sharply.

"Um," Mac stutters, a little taken aback at the urgency in Veronica’s tone. "Just that…I don’t think Logan cares what your friends think of him. He tolerates them because he wants to be around you."

Silence.

"Veronica? Still there?"

Veronica asks softly, "What did you think of Logan and me?"

"You two were…different. Not Ken and Barbie." Mac remembers the brief span when the two of them were dating. The looks they gave each other were private, pleased, filled with dirty secrets and intimate understanding. Mac always felt the need to keep clearing her throat, just to remind the two of them she was still in the room. And even after they broke up, there was something shivery in the intense glances Logan shot at Veronica when she wasn’t looking.

She glanced at them once during Logan’s Alterna-Prom, desperate to escape the awkwardness of Butters’ attentions. The two of them were perched on a desk in the back of the room. It didn’t even look like they were talking, but the air between them was fairly vibrating. Logan was inclined toward Veronica like he was being pulled by some force outside himself, and Veronica’s face was raw with confusion and guilt and something that would have looked a lot like longing, if Veronica were the pining type. Mac had been able to endure it for about two seconds before she turned back to her partner. Even Butters’ stare was more comfortable than that scene.

"We were different how?" Veronica prods.

"You always looked like, whatever you were doing…"

"We were about to go for each other’s throats?" Veronica’s voice is wry.

"Like you were about to go for each other’s lips," Mac says flatly.

"Oh," Veronica says faintly.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I used to have it completely clear." Veronica sounds pained. "Since Duncan left…. I just needed an objective perspective."

The silence that follows is uncomfortable, and Mac tips her alarm clock to see the time. 2:20. Her motivation to study is officially gone. She’s not sure exactly what kind of clarification Veronica’s looking for, but she has the feeling she didn’t help much. "Well, that’s my honest-to-goodness objective perspective. For whatever it’s worth."

Veronica sighs. "Ok. Thanks Mac. I owe you." Like they just finished a business transaction instead of had one of the oddest conversations Mac’s ever experienced. Of the many varied and strange things Veronica Mars has asked of her, she thinks this short romantic musing may top the list.

"Is there…anything else you want to ask me?" Mac says hesitantly. "It sounds like there’s something going on."

"No," Veronica says evasively, "I’m just trying to decide something."

"Do I get in on the question?"

"If I see you Monday, I’ll let you know." Which might be the strangest thing Veronica has said in this whole unsettling exchange. "Good luck with your test."

Mac hangs up her phone and glances back at her textbook.  _Those better be the best freaking cookies ever._


	5. Part V

Logan paces. He can’t stand still for more than thirty seconds before anger gets his legs moving again. He heard Duncan turn on the television over an hour ago, like he still fucking owned the place. Then again, Duncan doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Until morning, when he drives off into the sunrise, Renegade Heir and Valiant Baby Defender all over again.

Veronica’s going to go with him. Logan could see it in Duncan’s eyes. She may not have agreed yet, but Duncan had every confidence that when he left, Veronica would be with him. Logan can understand his smugness. After all, Veronica has never not chosen Duncan.

3:00 AM. He’s not sure what he’s going to do when he gets to Veronica’s room, but he certainly can’t stay here. Duncan will have that whipped puppy look again, and Logan will fold up like a lawn chair, because what else can he do? He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. 

Duncan’s head swivels around. "Hey." Casual, like they weren’t at each other’s throats just hours ago. Like they’re still sixteen, and Lilly is alive, and nothing at all has changed.

"When are you leaving?" Logan asks baldly, ignoring Duncan’s tentative greeting. Duncan’s face sobers.

"8 AM. From the bridge at Dog Beach." Duncan studies him for a minute. "Are you thinking of turning me in?"

Mother _fucker_. "I’m touched," Logan says sardonically. "Your faith in me is really fucking astounding."

Duncan has the grace to look ashamed. "Ok. Yeah, I knew that." He watches Logan head for the door. "You’re leaving?"

"I thought I should bid Veronica adieu. My therapist recommends closure." Duncan searches his face warily. "Relax Donut. I’m not going to abduct her. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes."

There it is – the apology in his eyes, the concern, the fucking sincerity. "Logan…" he begins.

"I guess you’ll be gone by the time I get back?" It’s a question and an order all at once. He can’t let Duncan finish that sentence, or he’ll collapse under the burden of the best friendship of his life. He’ll relent, and he’ll say it’s ok, and he’ll step aside and let Veronica go without a fight. And then he’ll spend the rest of his life hating them both.

Duncan looks like he’s struggling with the words for a second. But his voice is calm when he says, "Yes."

Logan swallows and nods, because this is it. "Good luck. Watch those border patrols, D."

He’s almost at the door when he hears Duncan from behind him. "I’m sorry."

He stops for a second, dragging in air. He needs to get out of the room, and he needs Duncan to be his best friend for just one more fucking day, and he needs Veronica Mars to not have destroyed the one friendship that ever meant anything to him. He wants to speak, or apologize, or break every last object in the room, including Duncan himself, because this is much, much worse than when Duncan just disappeared without warning. He tries to breathe, and he can’t, he just can’t – 

"Leave the key this time," Logan says, and slams out of the room.

*****

She’s not sure who she expected to be on the other side of her door at four in the morning, but it certainly wasn’t a twitchy Logan Echolls. 

"Logan, what are you doing here?" She can’t see around his frame filling the doorway. "Is Duncan here?"

His eyes flicker to her stuffed overnight bag in the corner, then to her, fully dressed in jeans and a hoodie. "You’re going," he says flatly.

She doesn’t know how to answer. She called Mac for clarity, and ended up tied in even more knots. She can’t possibly send Duncan away, alone, by himself, and never see him again. And she can’t possibly do something as insane as pick up and leave her life at 19 years old. And she’s going to end up in the loony bin before this night is through.

Logan contemplates the ceiling for a good thirty seconds. Then he laughs disgustedly. "Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know,  _smart_  about things like this? Think things through? I’d expect a crack-ass plan like this from Lilly, not you."

Her heart clenches at the jab at Lilly, but she doesn’t bite back. Because there is something underneath his words that sounds dangerously close to panic. "I have thought things through," she says quietly, crossing her arms. "I can’t solve this by sticking clues together."

"Yes, you really can," he says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I’ll help you." He starts ticking things off on his fingers. "Duncan – left you, in case you’ve forgotten. Lilly – not your daughter. Your father – private detective. If you turn up missing…who do you think he’ll head to first with the thumbscrews? And, oh right," he smacks his forehead, "there’s the whole deal where you’ll be leaving your family, your friends, your school, your entire  _future_  –"

"I get it," she cuts him off, starting to heat with anger at the condescension in his tone. "Do you think I haven’t thought about this?"

"I’m starting to wonder," he barks. "What the hell are you thinking, Veronica? If – by some miracle – you don’t get caught, you’re gonna wake up a year from now, shackled to life you hate. And Duncan will still be lying to you, and you’ll still be taking care of  _Meg Manning’s_  kid, and you’ll still be trying to get something back that’s  _gone_." His voice rises with every sentence, and she feels something sharp and tight and angry rising in her body along with it.

"You’ve been going full-out for the Neptune Grand title in binge drinking for the past six months, and you’re lecturing  _me_ about moving forward?" she asks incredulously. "I dare you to look in a mirror and say that with a straight face."

"You think you’ve gotten so tough since Lilly died, with your camera and your hair and your punk clothes, but if you think running away will help you get back what you lost then you’re the same naïve, repressed little tagalong you always were. Duncan – he doesn’t even see you. He’ll shove you into that box until you’re stuck there." He’s shouting now, up in her face.

"Right. Because you’ve had so much experience with happy relationships." She’s horrified to realize she’s close to tears. "You’re dating a girl who you don’t love out of guilt. The last girl you slept with was your friend’s gold digger stepmother. The love of your life was cheating on you with everyone from Weevil to your father who, oh yeah, killed her."

The stricken look that contorts his face is gone in an instant, but in that instant she sees every sickening ounce of pain and guilt that he has been processing for the last year and a half. She had hoped he was beginning to heal, and then she had to go and rip the band-aid off. And she can’t bring herself to apologize out loud, because she is still half-furious at his scathing assessment of her and half-terrified he’s right.

His presence is throwing everything into chaos, like it always does. Duncan makes things fall into focus. They’re soul mates, right? She can stay in Neptune and struggle her way through the next thirty years of her life taking pictures of seedy motel trysts, or she can run away with her first love and have sunshine, and freedom, and take pictures of her own children as they grow. And the thought of leaving Wallace and her father and (fine) Logan, makes her feel like her heart is being sucked through the wall of her chest, but what girl on earth would choose to struggle when she could have freedom?

But it doesn’t sound like freedom coming from Logan. It sounds as stupid and impossible as it did when Duncan first proposed it. And if she belongs with Duncan, then she shouldn’t feel this  _pull_  between her and Logan. It’s messy and stressful and almost always painful, but it’s there, and the thought of losing it is maybe the most distressing thing of all.

"I love Hannah," he says in a low voice, and she  _really_  doesn’t want to hear this. "And she loves me, even after what I did to her." His eyes are dark with pain. "I used her, and she knows it, and she still loves me." He takes a step toward her, and now she can see that he’s vibrating with a fury that has her remembering smashed headlights and smashed table lamps. "You and Duncan think you have some sort of mythical thing…."

"Epic?" she bites. He stops and flinches. "You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t think you’re the best person to go to for advice on life-altering decisions. As impressive as your self-destructive alcoholic motif is, I think I got this one." She can’t move past his passionate insistence that he and Hannah are in love, and happy, and she’s angry enough to hit him, angry enough to say a million things she’ll regret.

"Better self-destructive than stubborn and blind," he shouts. "Going with Duncan isn’t going to make your problems disappear. It’s going to make you miserable, and him too."

"You could care less whether Duncan and I end up happy, or miserable, or at the bottom of a lake," she spits out. "This is about  _you_ , like always. You  _need_  me because I’m the only thing you have left from before your life went to pieces."

"If this is your idea of helping a friend in need, you might want to try another approach. Because you really suck," he says venomously, and she wants to  _destroy_  him in a way she hasn’t since right after Lilly died. He’s giving her thousands of reasons to stay, and not one of them is the one she wants to hear, and she really thinks she hates him.

She raises her fists and slams them both against his chest, a single blow that doesn’t even upset his balance, but sends aftershocks through her entire body. And then she stops, panting, mirroring his surprised expression.

"Shit, I’m sorry," she whispers. "I don’t know…"

He hauls her against him and kisses her.

Oh. Shit.

Train wreck. Disaster. The wrong, wrong, wrong,  _bad_  thing to do. She doesn’t want to kiss Logan, because right now she _hates_ Logan. And that’s the last fully coherent thought she has, as she locks her arms around him and kisses him back.

He slides his fingers under her shirt and skims up her sides, anchoring her to him with a hand on either side of her ribcage. She remembered that Logan was a good kisser. She remembered the way he would lift her against him just  _there_ , so she could feel the hard press of him all the way down to her toes. But she could never have summoned up the intensity of him, the instant combustion that is Logan’s mouth against her own.

He tastes like whiskey and rain, and before she knows it he is pressing her into the mattress, lips and teeth against her neck, making her body arch so hard she thinks she might snap. His shirt is gone and she realizes, in a brief moment of lucidity, that she tore it off him. He is lifting her shirt, too, and she is helping him, struggling to pull it off in her desperation to be skin against warm, smooth skin.

Duncan flashes briefly in her mind, immediately erased by Logan’s tongue against her stomach and his hand lightly cupping her breast. She grips his hair as he licks his way up her body, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. It isn’t until she starts unbuttoning his pants that he freezes. He tears his mouth away from hers, gulping in air like he’s been underwater.

His eyes are rich with emotion, and she knows without a doubt that he’s going to start talking again, and it won’t be something she likes. Maybe he’s only doing this to make her stay, and maybe she’s only doing this because the thought of never seeing him again is just pain, pain, pain. But she can’t think about it right now. She may regret it when she wakes up, but right now this is clear-cut and inevitable. "Don’t." She preemptively silences him. "Just – don’t."

He’s going to go right ahead and protest anyway, so she yanks his head down and stops him with her mouth, deep and furious and urgent. He resists for a minute, but she cups his jaw and lifts herself against him, and he starts to respond again, despite the fine tension she can still feel all through his body.

When she pushes him gently onto his back and straddles him he just looks up at her, dazed. When she kisses her way down his stomach, down, down, down further than she’s ever touched him he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. And when she unbuttons his pants and puts her mouth on him, he inhales sharply, his fingers twisting white in the sheets. In all her time with Duncan, she has never, ever done this for him, and he has never, ever asked. Every memory of Duncan is perfect, dreamy, tinged with laughter and tenderness and innocence.

And she’s pretty sure she would trade every single one for the chaotic, white-hot pleasure of her mouth on Logan’s skin, his fingers tracing circles on her scalp as his breathing grows heavier and heavier under her. Finally, she lifts her head, and he is looking directly at her. The expression in his eyes is…scary. Like he’s been swimming for  _years_ , and she just threw him a life preserver. But right now, she needs the comfort of his body as much as she accused him of needing her just minutes ago. She feels as raw as he looks.

But she doesn’t have time to ponder it, or to get nervous about the step they’re most definitely about to take. In one motion he shucks his pants and pulls a condom out of the pocket. His hands are gentle and surprisingly deft as he deals with the rest of her clothing, and she allows herself a brief moment of annoyance when she remembers that Logan is infuriatingly experienced at this.

Even that sentiment can’t last long, though, when he settles his body on hers, hot and hard, and kisses her again. His hands touch her everywhere, tracing light patterns on her skin, skimming over every plain and valley of her body with varying pressure and intensity. And the entire time he kisses her, stroking his tongue against hers in a rhythm that has her hips lifting against his. "I want you to be sure," he whispers, breaking the contact of their lips for a brief moment. They are the first words he’s said since she attacked him with her fists.

"I am." It’s a lie; she’s not sure of anything right now, except that they have to finish this right now. Then he slides into her, and  _oh god_  she’s having sex with Logan. Two years of waking up in a sweat from hated, half-remembered dreams of Logan’s mouth and Logan’s hands, and it was never like this. Nothing in her life has ever approached the desperation she feels as she pulls him as close to her as humanly possible. And when she breaks apart in his arms she feels him whispering something against her neck, but she can’t hear him because he’s sent her spinning into a whole new place, and she’ll never, ever be able to claw her way back to normal. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to.  
  


_This is not romantic,_ she tells herself as he pulls them onto their sides, still shuddering with his own release. Fucked up little rich boys are not romantic; they’re disaster. She’s not in love with him; she’s not that stupid. That’s not contentment spreading through her limbs, making her boneless. She’s definitely not happy and she’s definitely…about to kiss him all over again if he keeps stroking up and down her back like that.

"Do you always carry condoms when you go visiting?" she mumbles into his chest.

She feels him chuckle. "Always prepared. I used to be a boy scout."

She wants to make a quip about seeing him in uniform, but she’s too exhausted, so the visual slips into sleep with her.


	6. Part VI

Logan opens his eyes, minutes or hours later, to the greenish glow of Veronica’s screensaver and the sky beginning to lighten. Veronica is still pillowed against him, her blonde hair teasing his skin. He watches her for a minute, torturing himself with the memory of her skin under his hands. If it were Lilly, or Hannah, he’d already be sliding into her again, touching the breasts he’s been fantasizing about for two years, kissing away any protest she might have. But this is Veronica, and she can’t stand him unless he’s kissing her, and he thinks half the time he can’t stand her either. There’s nothing tying them to this bed except hormones, a mutual history, and his sinking fear that she’s about to leave forever.

He always forgets that she’s pretty. She’s sassy, and she’s rough-edged, and she’s sexy, but here and now she’s unguarded, and all he can see is smooth blonde hair, flushed cheeks, eyelashes and lips and a young girl that he’s in love with.  
 _  
I guess I can cross off "Nail Veronica Mars" on my Things To Do Before I Die list,_  he thinks humorlessly. Except he has an uncomfortable feeling that he was less the nail-er and more the nail-ee this time around. A goodbye fuck? Ever practical Veronica, capitalizing on an opportunity before it’s gone forever? Sure, he kissed her. But when you came right down to it, he’d just been insulted, attacked, and seduced by a prickly, almost-virgin who promptly rolled over and went to sleep as soon as it was over. Who was, very possibly, about to disappear from his life forever.

He feels it the second she wakes up. Her palm smoothes over his chest lightly, sending prickles down his spine all over again. And then she freezes. He holds his breath, waits for her to say something. And the ticking clock in the room suddenly magnifies about a million times as the silence stretches. She draws back from him slowly, not meeting his eyes. Logan’s hope promptly wraps itself around his neck and strangles him.

When he can finally speak, he is proud of how nonchalant he sounds. "So, was that my parting gift?" His voice is flat, bored even. "I have to tell you, as farewells go, that one was excellent. Way better than a potted plant."

She doesn’t say anything, and that’s all the information he needs. He rolls out of bed and starts angrily yanking on clothes like an offended virgin. "It’s been swell Veronica, really. What do you say we get together in twenty years and reminisce? I’ll tell you all about my exploits as the next Hollywood E! train wreck, and you and Duncan can bring family pictures of your fugitive children, and we’ll all have a nice chuckle."

She doesn’t move from the bed as she tracks his progress with her eyes. She just sits there, huddled under her sheets, her face frozen in the mask she used to wear when he taunted her about her mother, or broke her headlights, or did any number of things that made her hate him. He taps his watch face. "Better get a move on. Duncan said 8AM, right? Hop to."

He wants to pick her up by the shoulders and shake some sense into her for even considering this insane notion because it it’s  _romantic_ , and because it’s Duncan, and because she will always, always see something noble in stupid Duncan that she could never see in him. But he has the feeling that putting his hands on her again would be ill-advised for everyone involved. And that just gives him another reason to hate her. Once she’s gone he’ll have to break up with Hannah, because it took one  _fucking_  kiss to send him crawling back to Veronica, and she was right all the time, and can’t bring himself to love the one person in his life who doesn’t treat him like shit.

He pauses at the door, looking back at her, still staring at him through inscrutable blue-gray eyes. It hurts to look at her, pale and pure in the dim light, her silky hair in disarray around her face. He wants to ask her not to leave him, like every other fucking person he’s loved, but he’ll hang himself before he starts pleading again. He wants her to say something, even if it’s just a good, hearty, "fuck you," but she’s maddeningly silent, and that’s as much rejection as he can take at the moment.

"If you go you’ll regret it," he hears himself say, just before he slams the door behind him.

The first thing he does when he gets back to his empty, empty hotel suite is order a bottle of champagne, in celebration of ridding himself of one very small, very infuriating blonde for good. The second thing he does is drink three-quarters of it in five minutes flat, until his head is spinning and the choking misery of the night has softened, just a bit. The third thing he does is hurl the almost-empty bottle at the bathroom mirror, sending both mirror and bottle exploding in shards at his feet.

Violence accomplished, he collapses on the couch that’s too damn big for one person and flips on the television, trying to ignore the moisture squeezing out of his eyes, trying to pretend there isn’t a sharp pain in his chest like a piece of broken mirror had lodged there instead of the carpet. He thinks, for a drunken, dizzy moment, of hopping back into his car and stopping them on the bridge in some big, melodramatic moment that his father would have won an Oscar for. He’s really too drunk to even think about driving, but hey, this is true love, right? Except the room is spinning at a sickening rate, and he’ll be lucky if he can even locate his car keys, let alone make it to the bridge in one piece. So instead, he falls asleep there on the couch, putting off the glare of sobriety for as long as he can manage.

*****

Aside from the epileptic lapses that have pervaded his life, Duncan doesn’t consider himself a violent person. Which doesn’t explain the shiver of satisfaction that runs through him as he hands five thousand dollars in cash over to Clarence Wiedman in payment for the murder of Aaron Echolls.

Clarence’s face is impassive and respectful as always as he tucks the money into his coat pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Kane."

The head of security protested the payment at first, on the grounds that he was a security council, not an assassin, but considering the man had risked his career and future trying to cover up a crime he thought Duncan had committed, and considering the risk he took going after Aaron Echolls, Duncan thought he owed him some compensation.

Add those two circumstances to the fact that Clarence is aiding and abetting a fugitive every time Duncan makes contact, and he pretty much figures he’ll be in debt to Clarence Wiedman for the rest of his natural born life. But for now, five grand is the best he can scrap up.

He hands Clarence the untraceable cell phone he’s been using, and Clarence hands him a new one, black and generic and anonymous, like his life’s become.

"Did he – How did it – go down?" He can’t help but ask, despite his brain telling him that he absolutely doesn’t want to know. Since he found out, he hasn’t let himself think of Aaron Echolls as his best friend’s father, or his parents’ friend, or an A-list movie star. He has been solely the man who fucked and killed his sister, who tried to burn Veronica alive, and who almost got away with it. But Veronica’s words from last night are still ringing in his ears, and memories are beginning to creep back. Half his adolescent years were spent at the Echolls house. He politely answered Aaron’s questions about school, listened to speeches he would give at the dinner table while Lynn gazed on adoringly, watched his own father clap Aaron on the back, like they were the best of friends. Neither him nor Logan had any idea just how broken their families were.

There is just a hint of concern crinkling the security man’s eyes. "Mr. Echolls was watching the television. He had a – guest – taking a shower in the bathroom. I entered the room, disabled security, and shot him twice in the back of the head."

Duncan feels a little sick at the visual. "Yeah. Ok, yeah. I-" he swallows. "Thank you, Clarence." Clarence nods once, impeccably discreet, perfectly subdued.

"Don’t use it unless you have to," he says, impaling Duncan with the gravity of his gaze, "and only use it to contact me. Once you’ve settled use a different phone for local calls. This is for emergencies only."

Duncan nods silently, as cold moment of reality invades his veins. It isn’t until now that he’s had a chance to fully process how cut off he’ll be. The last year he has had revenge to focus on, to keep him moving forward. But this – this is truly an ending. Now the only thing he has is the goal of making a semi-decent life for him and Lilly and Veronica, thousands of miles away from everything he knows. Somehow, that prospect is more terrifying than his murderous vendetta ever was.

Clarence takes his exit on foot, leaving the car and keys with Duncan. Duncan sits, hidden in the shadows of the bridge, and waits for Veronica. 8AM, he told her, but as the sun starts to rise, he begins to get a little nervous. Maybe she’s saying her goodbyes. Maybe she’s not coming.  
  
 _She’ll come_ , he tells himself.  _Of course she’ll come_. The alternative is unthinkable. The alternative is an even greater severing of ties. It’s him on his own, trying to figure out how to raise a daughter he loves more than his next breath, but has no idea what to do with. It’s leaving behind the last remnant of the only happy time in his life. He thinks of the way he left Logan with huge, hollow ache in his heart. The next thirty years are terrifying no matter how he looks at them. With Veronica at his side, strong, beautiful, sure of herself, he knows he’ll pull it off. Without her…  
  
 _She’ll come_ , he thinks, watching the sun climb higher in the sky.


	7. Part VII

Grief, exhaustion, and champagne make for uncomfortable bedfellows. Logan should have learned that by now, but he’s beginning to think he has masochistic tendencies.

He wakes up just as the sun is beginning to set, gritty-eyed and drooling, fuzzy, nauseous, and with feet aching from where he tromped carelessly over broken glass. And it hits him that Duncan is gone again, and he has taken Veronica with him. His cell phone displays four missed calls, all from Hannah.

He limps to the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub to begin the slow process of picking tiny shards of glass out of his skin. He’s taken care of his own injuries more times than he can count. His mother preferred not to acknowledge the violence taking place under her nose, and Lilly was never the care-taking type. Whenever he showed up with a new set of bruises her green eyes would go dark with concern, and she’d speak a little more gently to him for a few days, but she never asked questions, and that was fine with him. Pity from Lilly was the kiss of death; the moment he started dragging her down from that star-paved high she was always on she would have dumped him faster than he could down a few of his mom’s pain pills.

When Veronica had stretched him out across her lap after his near-suicide on the bridge, when she had cleaned his cuts, stroked his hair, talked to him in that deceptively sweet little voice, he had thought,  _finally_ , he had found somewhere safe. Which turned out to be the biggest lie of all, because since Veronica Mars sucked him into her world he’s gotten thrown in jail and had the shit kicked out of him more than most people get to experience in a lifetime. He glances at his cell phone. He could call Hannah. He could tell her some sort of lie about why he’s hungover and cut up, and she would cuddle against him and croon comforting things. Or he could tell her the truth, and she’d scream at him and maybe throw something, and then, if he came crawling back to her she’d forgive him.

Veronica never throws things. He wishes she would. He tosses his cell phone on the counter, watching it spin a few haphazard circles.

He finishes cleaning his cuts, takes a shower, shaves, grabs his car keys, and heads out the door. He already wants to drink again, and even someone as self-destructive as he can tell that’s not a good idea.

He tells himself he’s going to Hannah’s, but he heads for the beach instead. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he has to drive past Veronica’s dorm room to get there. Nothing. He sails past the Hearst campus, glancing - completely nonchalantly – at the parking lot – and almost drives off the road. Her hideous car is there, sitting in the same spot as this morning. He nearly takes out a BMW in the other lane as he pulls an impromptu U-turn.   
 _  
It could be nothing,_  he tells himself, dry-mouthed, forcing himself to walk sedately up the stairs instead of dashing like a love-sick moron.  _She could have gotten a ride. She could have called a cab. She could have walked all the way to the bridge. She could be waiting naked in bed for me. Whatever._

There is no sound coming from her room, no light under the door, and for a moment he wants to put his fist through the wall, and it’s much, much worse than when he first woke up. And then he hears her moving behind the door.

*****

It’s Logan – again – when Veronica opens the door. This time, she’s expecting it. Actually she was expecting it at eight in the morning. She almost called him when he didn’t show up, but decided at the last minute that if he was going to be all angry and tormented then he could damn well come to her. After spewing about nine months’ worth of frustration onto her that morning and slamming out of the room in a huff, she figured she owed him a few hours of suspense, anyway. When twelve noon went by without any sign from him her smugness began to wane. She decided to wield her nervous energy against the dust mites in her room. It took exactly two hours before the place was as neat and spare as a hospital room and smelled so strongly of pine sol that Wallace started sputtering the second he walked in. The rest of the day was spent alternately pretending to study, listening to her iPod, and laying on her bed and feeling thirty different kinds of foolish, wondering if she had imagined Logan’s desperation last night.

By 8PM she’s about to pick up her phone again, pride be damned, but he’s there when she opens the door, frozen in the hallway, staring at her like he can’t decide if he wants to strangle her or himself more. For all his insistence that she not go with Duncan, she thinks nervously, he doesn’t seem to be overjoyed about finding her still here.

"Hi," she says.

"You didn’t leave," he says tightly. That’s it. He looks like shit, like maybe he hasn’t slept at all, but where she should feel guilt she can’t tamp down on a secret, wicked warmth spreading through her body.

She clears her throat, tries to infuse her voice with some lightness. "If I’m not mistaken, that  _is_  what you were getting at last night. Unless I’m missing something  _really_  important."

"What about Duncan?"

She tenses involuntarily, remembering the anger, the desolation, and the utter sorrow in his eyes. "I met him. I told him I wasn’t ready for domestic bliss. And I said goodbye." And she’d walked away sobbing, knowing Duncan was close to doing the same. But it wasn’t something she was ready to tell Logan.

He relaxes, just enough to lean a shoulder against the doorframe. "You – uh – you said you were leaving. I thought you’d be on the first flight to paradise island by now." He has a small smile on his face, but he can’t meet her eyes, and that’s not what she wants.

"Actually," she says broadly, pausing for dramatic effect, "you’re the one who said that. You technically never asked me."

He sets his jaw. "Why the  _hell_  – "

"I didn’t know," she interrupts him, seeing the thunderous expression in his eyes. "I thought about what you said, and you’re right."

"What I said… That you’d regret it?"

"That I need to move forward."

For a moment he just stares at her blankly. And then he understands. The smile that spreads over his face is slow, smug, and so sexy it kick-starts her heart into overdrive. He puts one hand firm on her hip and the other warm against the back of her neck.

"You’re still dating Hannah," she reminds him a little petulantly.

He laughs, and the sound is gorgeous with relief and happiness. "Cool it, Mars. You owe me a bottle of champagne."


End file.
